I finally have a quick moment to announce the birth of my son, Rowan Hendrix! He was born at 12:33 am on the 9th of September... He weighed 8 lbs 5 oz and was 20 1/2" long. It was a fairly quick labour, and he ended up coming out it one giant push!
Since my husband is a much better writer than I, here is his version of my birth story!
Rowan is three weeks old now. Despite my third degree tearing (owie), I'm feeling really good. I think I'm completely healed down there. I'm getting a decent amount of sleep, and Rowan has just been a delight...
Since my husband is a much better writer than I, here is his version of my birth story!
Quote:
| "She is one week overdue and having contractions, but not strong ones, not painful. I am getting ready for work, unsure if I should go. I tell her that I will go to work, but that as soon as she needs me, I will come home. I know that the baby is coming very soon. A long sales pitch to a halting, hesitant customer is mercifully interrupted by a page: "John, line 101 please. John, 101." Excuse me. Hi Natalie. Yes, I can come home, I'll just finish up with this customer and I'll be out the door. Sorry, sir, I have to go. My wife is having a baby. I walk to the front of the store to announce my departure. "You're not running for the exit," Shawna remarks. "I'm about to," I reply. It's time. I shake hands with co-workers. My heart races. Adrenaline. I turn the key and speed home. Her contractions are coming faster now, and stronger. They are painful. I hold her. We keep her appointment with the doctor at 3:15PM. "Early labour," the doctor calls it, not "active labour." These are the hours that do not count on the wristwatches of Hippocratic Oath Takers. This is not comforting. We are advised to go home, and return when Natalie's water breaks or the discomfort becomes extreme. The discomfort becomes extreme. I am struggling to keep my composure. I feel the pain radiating from her body, and I reach out to her with all of the love in my body. She is labouring in the tub, thinking of staying at home, as another trip by car seems unbearable. Somehow, she endures the long ride, reclined in the passenger seat, gasping every three minutes. I try to concentrate on the road. I feel shaky. The initial exam at the hospital is disappointing. "We might have to send you home, and you can come back in a few hours." Natalie is crestfallen, but determined that she should remain there. She is sure. They offer her morphine and gravol, which slows the contractions by a minute or two, and helps her to rest in between. "It doesn't seem like you're making much progress. We'll check to make sure, but we'll probably send you home, and have you come back in a few hours." Her water breaks. It is 10:29PM, one hour since we arrived. "I guess that you're a keeper." We walk down the hall to a new room. It is comfortable and the atmosphere is pleasant and relaxing. Natalie labours under a hot shower. I join her there. Her head is on my knee. I stroke her hair. "I feel like I have to push," she says. I am euphoric/terrified. It has only been an hour since Natalie's water broke. The nurse checks her. She is fully dilated and effaced. The baby is coming very quickly. A call is placed to the doctor; we are worried that she will not make it to the hospital in time. I (semi)joke that in the interest of having an identical-digit-birthday-baby, she should hold off on pushing. Powerful contractions shake her whole body. I feel a potent rush of adrenaline. I am watching my partner give new life. I hold her. She pushes. He is born. Laughing. Overjoyed, overwhelmed. Then lost for words... I am surprised that my hands are steady enough to grasp the scissors. I cut the umbilical cord. I kiss Natalie. We name our son, Rowan Hendrix." |
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